


Shawarma, or Terms of War

by Saentorine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brothers, Gen, Humorous Ending, Internal Monologue, Loki-centric, Non-Consensual Bondage, Psychological Torture, Self-Pity, Shawarma, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saentorine/pseuds/Saentorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“And you continue to underestimate them,” Thor warned. “Even now that they have defeated you. But you know well the terms of war, brother. They do not differ much throughout the Nine Realms. Now you are at their mercy.”</i>
</p><p>Detained in Tony Stark’s bathroom as the Avengers go out for shawarma, Loki ponders his fate as their sole captive war criminal. His own dark imagination serves much harsher justice than what truly awaits him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shawarma, or Terms of War

**Author's Note:**

> I chose not to select Archive Warnings because I'm not really sure whether or not this fic applies to some of them. Loki considers the possibility of brutal vigilante justice including violence and rape, but none ever occurs-- and the entire point is that in the end, the Avengers don't come anywhere near to matching his unforgiving assumptions about them. With that in mind, if these topics are triggering to you, please proceed according to your comfort level.

“If it’s all the same to you . . . I’ll have that drink now.”

All six of them faced him down as Loki sat barely upright, one hand steadying himself uneasily against the steps of the Iron Man’s devastated apartment. His eyes nearly crossed as Barton’s arrow aimed between his eyes at zero range, though he would not risk taking his gaze from the other five, especially the great green beast growling and posturing menacingly in the back and the woman with his own scepter in her hands. Even Thor held Mjolnir at the ready, prepared to thwart any escape Loki might attempt.

Finally, the Iron Man spoke: “Gotten fond of us? Or are you just dumb as a brick? Because I would have thought you’d be long gone by now.”

“I think Banner immobilized him pretty effectively,” Barton smirked, keeping his bow drawn as the others began to circle around Loki, preventing him from backing away-- as if Loki could, winded as he was, barely able to keep himself sitting upright, let alone stand. Besides, he had no use to resist now. This was all part of the plan—or one of them, anyway. 

“Well, I have to hand it to him; at least he didn’t take the cowardly route and do himself in before we got here,” said the Star-Spangled man, appraising Loki with a small frown as he drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms. Loki scowled; he had tried that once and little good it had done him.

"You have to admit, it would have made things a lot easier if he had," said the Iron Man. Then he looked to Loki: “Couldn’t have even done us the one small favor, huh? Selfish son of a bitch until the end.”

"Says the man who as of 30 minutes ago only just stopped being a selfish son of a bitch himself," retorted the Star-Spangled man, though his eyes met the Iron Man’s and they shared the briefest of smiles.

As they were speaking, the woman had crossed the room and exchanged the scepter for another menacing artifact, which as she approached was revealed to be an elaborate metal gag. Although he was exhausted and empty of his desire to provoke them now, Loki’s dwindling shreds of dignity rebelled at wearing such a thing and he began to resist, elbowing and kicking despite the severe strain it put on his spine. He felt two of them grab his ankles as Thor pressed him flat with the length of his arm tight across Loki’s chest, holding him in place and only degrading him further as his protests muffled and then snapped to silence as the unforgiving metal locked his jaw into place. A moment later his wrists were bound on a thin chain.

The Iron Man snickered, then tried to stifle a laugh—then stopped trying to stifle and simply chuckled openly. “What kinky motherfucker at SHIELD came up with _that_?” he gasped between breaths. “Please tell me it was Fury.”

“SHIELD must be aware of our custom. It will prevent him using his magic or lies to cause further trouble,” explained Thor, as if this should be obvious. It was typical for prisoners of Asgard versed in sorcery and manipulation to be gagged in captivity, lest they work their wiles in order to escape. Loki was exactly the type of prisoner a gag was meant for—but knowing this made it no less humiliating. He could no longer raise his voice to curse them and protest his fate, or even so much as cast a frown upon them.

The sight of Loki in bonds seemed to calm the great green beast, who had slumped over into a corner and shrunk down into the much less impressive human form, self-consciously crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“Feel free to borrow a shirt, Banner,” the Iron Man offered him. “I don’t think you and Reindeer Games broke the walk-in closet.” Then he took a moment to remove his suit, swearing briefly at the removal apparatus that now sparked and shuddered instead of working so smoothly as it had before Loki and the green beast had done their work on the place.

The woman’s attention was on a small electronic device she seemed to be typing away at, and the Star-Spangled Man, apparently driven to do _something_ about the chaos, busied himself with setting a toppled couch back upright.

“So what now?” Barton asked them, sheathing his arrow back into his quiver and collapsing into the one chair in the room that hadn’t been showered in shattered glass. He quirked an eyebrow at Thor, who kept a firm hand decisively on Loki’s shoulder.

“Odin sent me here to find Loki and return him to Asgard, and that is still my intention,” said Thor. “We will need the Tesseract’s power to travel back, and I believe your planet will be safer for the loss of it.” 

“Why does Odin get all the fun?”

“Odin is Loki’s father and his king, and furthermore the All-Father of the entire Nine Realms. There is no more relevant or credible authority to serve him justice.”

“The ruler of the whole Nine Realms sounds impressive and all, but the _father_ part kind of makes me worried the _justice_ part isn’t going to down exactly like it’s supposed to,” quipped the beast-turned-human, buttoning up a shirt he had retrieved from the other room.

“It depends on the father,” muttered the Iron Man as he strode behind the bar to fix himself a drink.

“And he _is_ adopted,” the woman shrugged with a smirk towards Thor. Loki’s eyebrows dropped low over his eyes. _He told them?_

“But he needs to answer for his crimes in a court of the people whose community he destroyed,” the Star-Spangled Man pointed out. 

“He has much to answer for in Asgard as well,” Thor replied, and although he kept his eyes glaring at the rest of them he could feel his once-brother’s judgmental glare cast down on him. “He has committed crimes against the Chitauri, for leading them wantonly to their death in an unfamiliar realm. And long before he arrived on your planet he was also responsible for immense devastation and attempted annihilation of the entire realm of Jotunheim. He never faced trial because he was presumed dead, but those crimes are yet outstanding.”

If Loki had not been gagged he would have pointed out that the Chitauri were mercenaries rightfully handed to him by their own leader, not tricked or manipulated but fully willing to die for the one who commanded them. And while he would never confess his true origins to this horde of freakish Midgardians lest they consider him even remotely their equal, he _could_ point out that as the biological son of the late Jötun King Laufey, did he not have authority over Jötunheim and its denizens-- including the choice to destroy it?

“He’s even more like Hitler than I thought,” the Star-Spangled Man frowned.

“We’ll see what Fury has to say about it,” said the woman, checking her phone again. “He’s says it’s going to take a bit to get here; the World Security Council is trying to debrief him about the Avengers Initiative right now.”

“Perfect, just enough time for us to get shawarma,” said the Iron Man. “Somehow I doubt Fury’s bringing a pizza with him when he comes.”

"And what about Loki?" the woman asked.

"He stuck around waiting for us last time,” the beast-turned-human pointed out with a wry smile.

“And . . . the time before that,” the Star-Spangled Man added, rubbing his neck in embarrassment as he thought of how Loki had patiently awaited capture while he, the Iron Man, and Thor had battled in the forest-- something which should have aroused more suspicion than it had at the time. _Fools_ , Loki thought to himself. Their idiocy had been his advantage, but it seemed they were capable of learning from their mistakes.

“Yeah, but this time he doesn’t have an army coming to back him up,” Barton pointed out. “And _I'm_ not going to be the one to explain to Fury, 'Oh yeah, we _had_ him, but then we went out to lunch’ . . . "

“I know a way to immobilize him,” Thor revealed, getting to his feet and lifting Mjolnir. He caught Loki by surprise as he shoved him by the shoulder so he was on his back on the stairs again, and hovered his hammer just above him. To his embarrassment, Loki’s entire body seized up in fear, his abs clenching in memory of how heavy the hammer laid against his stomach on the Bifrost. “Like the rest of you, Loki is unable to lift it.” And then he set the hammer down.

 _Rub it in, why don’t you_ , Loki thought to himself, blood rushing frantically through his veins as his body processed the weight.

“Why didn’t you let us know about that before? We could have used that information,” the woman scolded with furrowed eyebrows.

"I thought the cell you kept him in would be adequate,” Thor frowned, looking guilty. He had probably been thinking of Asgard's dungeons, similar in their transparent sparseness though much more secure. Of course, Thor had also thought Loki’s illusions were real. "I too was mistaken.”

“Okay, just . . . put him in the bathroom, in case the weight of that thing makes him shit himself,” the Iron Man instructed, eying the taut, cringing face Loki was making visible even above the gag. “I think the carpet’s the only thing I’m _not_ going to have to replace in here.”

Thor removed Mjolnir with one hand, tossing her lightly into the air and catching her again as if she were weightless. _Show off_. Loki’s body went slack in release, which made it all the more convenient for Thor to scoop him around the waist with his other arm and heave him over his shoulder. In any other moment Loki would have kicked, flailed, bitten, and cursed at this indignity, but his back was still wrenched and he was exhausted, so he merely winced and remained limp. Now was not the time to anger Thor, anyway.

Only Thor was able to fit through the doorway of the bathroom with him, so the others watched from outside as he laid Loki out on his back-- not roughly, but not exactly tenderly-- and held the end of his hammer so it dangled just inches above Loki's ribcage. Loki tensed, waiting for the crushing weight to fall again—but Thor wanted to talk first. As if Loki were in any position to have a _conversation_! But it figured, really; the only time Thor could be certain Loki was listening rather than crafting an argument that could run circles around him was if Loki had no way of speaking in the first place.

“Loki,” he said quietly, softly, seeking his attention with a pitying gaze. “Loki,” he repeated, until Loki’s eyes finally fell upon him, though not before rolling them back to make clear his disinterest.

“Has your time on this planet changed nothing of your impression of humans?” he asked him in a low voice. “Now that you have seen their strength and resilience in defending their home?"

Free of his gag Loki would have pointed out that two clearly enhanced superbeings, two highly trained assassins, and a man in advanced armor hardly counted as a representative sample of humanity. The regular humans had behaved more or less exactly how he had expected they would: screaming, cowering, and needing to be saved. Thor could elevate their simple nature as much as he liked, but at their core they were ruled by fear and useless without someone to command them—exactly as Loki had said.

“And what of the Chitauri, brother?” Thor continued. “Do you feel no remorse for the annihilation of the troops who committed their lives to you, who you led into this fruitless endeavor?”

At this, Loki raised his eyebrows as if to ask: _Would you?_ Thor had seen the inefficiency of their attack style, as if throwing dead bodies at the enemy were the way to win a war. And in the end, as they had all collapsed at the death of their mothership . . . it was as if they had expected death as the outcome either way! Warriors of Asgard respected a noble death in battle, but nevertheless a safe return home was preferable. What a self-defeating and useless philosophy the Chitauri embraced, tying their lives so inextricably to the outcome of battle rather than live by the motivation to fight and die another day! As a hardened survivor of numerous defeats on what he still envisioned as his own trajectory to greatness, Loki felt nothing but revulsion for such defeatism.

They were interrupted as the Iron Man squeezed into the bathroom with a small glass tumbler of amber-colored liquid in hand, setting it down deliberately a few feet from Loki so it would be just out of his reach. Loki glared at him and did not give him the satisfaction of trying for it, but Thor only looked at the Iron Man in puzzlement.

"He said he wanted a drink," the Iron Man said lightly. "Are you ready to go?"

"Aye, give us but a moment more." 

As the Iron Man departed, Thor's frowned at his show of subtle antagonism. He then met Loki's eyes with earnest concern. 

“I will accompany them now to seek this shawarma,” he said in a low voice. Loki could tell he had no more idea what shawarma was than he did. “I do not know what will happen when we return. But you have made these mortals very angry, Loki. Do you realize the damage you have done? How badly you have provoked them? You have laid to waste one of the finest cities in their realm. You have injured them and penetrated the sacred privacy of their minds. You have provoked them far behind their threat to you.”

Loki raised his eyebrows, wishing Thor would remember he had intended to do them a favor, providing a little _order_ to the chaos and calamity they had achieved on their own. 

“And you continue to underestimate them,” Thor warned. “Even now that they have defeated you. But you know well the terms of war, brother. They do not differ much throughout the Nine Realms. Now you are at their mercy.”

Despite himself, a cold shiver ran down his spine and froze him in place as he realized what Thor meant. An enemy conquered in total war was subject to total defeat, whatever humiliation and degradation the victor considered necessary to enforce the losers’ submission, which could mean torture, mutilation, rape, or a slow and agonizing death far outside the bounds of civilized law. There were no trials on the battle field, and executions were not neat and clean. Warriors of Asgard often returned from battle boasting of their conquests of foreign maidens, but it in the wake of war it was not _charm_ that earned them the right to their bodies-- and their conquests were not restricted to maidens, either. Suddenly the Chitauri's instantaneous mass suicide made a little more sense. Now Loki was not only singled out as their leader, but the sole surviving target of his enemies’ ire.

"You have my word that I will do all in my power to return you safely to Asgard. They will not kill you,” Thor assured him. “But I cannot shield you from their wrath, brother. You have brought it upon yourself. I asked you time and time again to cease your foolish campaign, to stand down and come home-- but you made your choice, and you must now endure the consequences."

And with that, he rested the hammer on Loki's belly. _Thor!_ Loki tried to shout, but all that came out was a muffled moan, followed by a groan as his abdomen took the full weight of Mjolnir. His panicked panting became shallower and shallower as his armor pressed deeper into his diaphragm each time he exhaled, until his body and the hammer reached an uncomfortable equilibrium. 

"I do not know how long we will be gone," Thor said firmly, though his eyes still betrayed pity for Loki's struggle and fear for his behalf. "But you will bear it until we return."

He shut the door behind him, leaving Loki in the dark, breathing fast and shallow as Mjolnir preventing him from filling his lungs entirely. This coupled with the panic Thor had stirred in him began to make him lightheaded. He wondered if it would be more comfortable if he _did_ faint.

He tried to steady his breathing to calm himself. Things were still going according to plan. The first plan had been to conquer earth successfully, of course, but he had always had in mind the contingency of failure-- and when he heard the crashes of the Leviathans followed by dead silence as the entire Chitauri army fell at once, he knew which of the two possible outcomes was his fate. He was prepared for what happened next-- or at least he thought he had been.

He was not exactly anxious to face justice in Asgard, the wrath of the "father" whose enraged disappointment-- damning enough to bid him release his tenuous grasp on Gungnir and fall into the void-- had surely only grown in response to Loki's actions on Midgard. Nor did he desire to witness the toll his betrayal and supposed death had taken on Frigga. However, at least he knew more or less what to expect. Justice for treason was swift in Asgard, given the verdict and sentencing came down to a single command from the All-Father. The dungeons were clean, secure, and manned by guards whose self-control was second only to the Einherjars'-- and even if Odin's sentence was death, it would be carried out swiftly accordingly to protocol, leaving little opportunity for unnecessary degradation or vigilante justice. But he did not expect death. There were many in Asgard who would want to see him punished, but they had known him for centuries, once respected him as a prince, once cared for him as a friend, once loved him as family. Their lingering sentiment would be a boon to him. He knew how to lie to them and had a chance of manipulating them into seeing him as righteous or sympathetic, or at least worthy of protection from outside enemies. His best chance of leniency was in Asgard.

He would be _safest_ , too, in Asgard. He did not know exactly what consequences the Other and Thanos would wreak for his failure, but he did not intend to find out. Recognizing that a destroyed body and broken mind would be useless for the task he required of him, the Other had only pushed him just far enough to send his imagination reeling with what other possibilities were in store for him, tormenting his dreams so he slept fitfully and was never fully rested. He had been given one chance, and now that he had squandered it there was nothing to prevent the vague and terrifying threats hanging over his head from becoming reality. The Other, maybe even Thanos himself, would be coming for him, and so long as he was delayed on Midgard they would know exactly where to find him, vulnerable and defenseless. 

Meanwhile, Midgard was no safe haven, either. He had no idea what kind of treatment to expect at the hand of a world of mortals, either. What sense of “justice” could be expected from beings with such short, disposable lives? And with no central authority (if only they had realized the convenience and efficiency Loki’s rule would have given them!), who would sentence him? Would he be passed from territory to territory until he had served adequate recompense for his assault on their respective leaders? He had no patience for that and knew escape would be easy enough, but Loki had no more use of roaming Midgard now. He could not leave for Asgard without the accompaniment of Thor and the Tesseract, but Thor would not leave without Midgard’s permission, even if it meant waiting out wartime justice that even Thor himself feared the cruelty of.

Base cruelty was surely the essential nature of such base beings, he figured. They did not need to be clever, after all, to make a ruin of his body. The green . . . _creature_ . . . had already done marvelous work to his spine and the nerves all along his back, which still twinged and twitched painfully against the hard tile floor. The creature had since transformed back into its human shape, but he knew how easily he would anger again. What if, rather than slamming him whole against the floor, it gripped him on either side and tore him limb from limb? What if this time beast were not satisfied with wrecking only the _outside_ of his body?

However, Loki feared much more the loss of his mind. He had already lost his composure to the beast once, overcome by frustration and then the sheer pain of its brutal attack. It would not take much to push him past that point again and beyond—and Loki could not _stand_ the idea of that happening. He hated the creature not merely for its strength that had caused him such pain, but for simply being what it was in the first place. The creature forced Loki to acknowledge his own detestable monstrousness, how he concealed his grotesque Jötun form beneath an Asgardian glamour just as the creature disguised itself as human. Although he rejected blood connection to Odin and Thor, he still could not think of himself as Jötun; both the Other and Thor’s Midgardian companions knew him as an Asgardian, and Loki had not corrected them. Even now compulsively his eyes dropped to the wrist the frost giant had seized in Jötunheim to check for signs of blue, an anxious habit he had developed since discovering his true heritage. When of course it was pale as it always was, he congratulated himself inwardly on his obviously superior self-control compared to that _beast_. 

But the real mental torture would not come at the hands of that monster. He thought of the Iron Man, who rather than hurt him seemed to desire most to humiliate him. Had he not already taken every opportunity to do so, criticizing the intelligence of his plans and likening the malfunction of his scepter to a failure of his manhood, laughing as he locked on the disgraceful gag and bringing him the drink Loki had joked about simply to assert his power? Whatever he did to Loki, Loki knew the worst would be how he rubbed it into his face to degrade him. He might not even participate in cruelty himself, but content himself to laugh and tease as the others did the dirty work. If they tortured him, he would laugh at his tears and muffled screams through the gag as Loki passed his threshold for their pain. If they raped him he would taunt that he must _enjoy_ it, especially should his body betray him with the unfortunate instinct of arousal. If Mjolnir did make him drain his bowels-- _shit himself,_ as the Iron Man so eloquently put it-- he would liken Loki to an animal with no self-control, and his gagged cries would only seem to confirm it.

Yet Loki wondered if he shouldn’t fear the archer, Barton, more than either of them. Loki had invaded the Iron Man’s home, but he had invaded Barton’s _mind_. Frigga had cautioned him that magic enacted on others was much more unstable than on one’s self, and Loki had had no practice with the scepter before using it on Barton and Selvig. What unimaginable torment it must have been for a being with such a limited lifespan to absorb the mind of an inconceivably older being with memories and experiences its brain could barely conceive of-- especially as mind such as Loki’s? Even Loki himself was uncomfortable in his own mind at times, and with increasing frequency since he had met the Other. Loki did not care to imagine what ideas his own tortured insanity might have delivered to Barton to turn right back against him.

And he had made such awful threats to the woman about what he might do it to her and Barton, threats the woman must have told him about by now. Even if Barton sought no revenge for them, he was certain the woman would. Although she had surprised him with her own skill for lying and manipulation, he still believed she had strong sentiment for him. She would not have forgotten the threats Loki had made, nor the fact that he had temporarily stolen from him his own mind. Her cool unraveling of his taunts and plans unnerved him, as did her sex. Loki knew it was no coincidence the warrior women he knew were amongst the fiercest and most formidable in their ranks given how the men they worked with so often underestimated and pushed them back. He feared Sif even as he belittled her talents, and he feared his mother even as he trusted her love protected him from her wrath. Women were no less capable of exacting pain and death than men-- and that she did not have a man’s body would make no difference if she wished to harm him in _that_ way, either; all around the Iron’s Man home there were the barrels of guns, tools, an entire bar of bottles to be used whole or broken, Barton’s quiver of arrows-- even his own scepter, perhaps, for a bit of irony. He could just imagine her turning his own words back against him: “Who’s the mewling quim, now?”

The wrath of the Star-Spangled man was the hardest to predict. Loki had lived amongst gods and never met anyone who seemed so unwaveringly ethical and lacking in spite, and it was difficult to imagine his cruelty extending to much more than a boring, righteous lecture on Loki’s unjustified claim to rule and devastating crimes of war. (Such irony, Loki thought, having observed even in such short time how his nation was no less hegemonic and colonial than Asgard, just smaller and pettier in its stratified distinctions within the human race-- as if such superficial differences were anything in comparison to the size, strength, and lifespan advantage of an immortal to a Midgardian!). But maybe, as Thor said, Loki was underestimating him. Loki thought he recognized in him the soul of an underdog, a history of having been weak and abused. Perhaps buried beneath his unnaturally pure exterior was repressed depravity that would put the lot of them to shame. After all, Loki himself had once been a compliant and obedient son and brother until the rage of his resentment finally burst forth into revenge. With the destruction of his home city and the loss of his dear friend, that Son of Coul, would the Star-Spangled man snap into a sadist? Would his unwavering sense of right and wrong-- with Loki unequivocally understood as in the “wrong” camp—bid him torment his captive without hesitation or scruple? Would he unleash upon him such horrors as would make the others scream and vomit to witness?

And what of Thor? He had said he would not thwart his companions' justice, but would he turn a blind eye or stand by to watch? Would he goad the others on, laughing at Loki's anguish and mocking the cries of his false brother, as Loki had so often fantasized about doing to him? Or would he stand still and stoic, mournful eyes holding only pity and betraying the truth he must have already accepted, that his once-brother was pathetic, monstrous, and irredeemable? Strangely, Loki was unsure which prospect shamed him more.

The blood rushing heavily through his veins, whooshing in his ears, was so loud he barely heard the footsteps and voices of his captors having returned to the Iron Man’s quarters. His nerves were so tightly-wound that he might have vomited if Mjolnir weren’t obstructing the proper channels. To his shame he wheezed out an involuntarily whimper of fear, feeling tears pooling in the corners of his eyes that he hoped they would assume were merely from the effort of bearing Mjolnir.

The bathroom door opened and Loki tensed, but it was only Thor, clutching a small parcel of brown paper that fit easily in one hand. Nevertheless, the nerves on Loki’s skin jolted to alertness, certain its contents were a weapon or instrument of torture. _The shawarma_.

However, in the relative sterility of the fortified bathroom, after a moment the smell of the thing could be detected and Loki was surprised to identify it as _edible_. There was the rich savory scent of roasted meat, warm bread, and unfamiliar but appetizing spices. Thor lifted it and parted the paper wrapping in order to take a bite, and Loki saw that it appeared to be some kind of rolled Midgardian sandwich. 

Loki’s stomach rumbled loudly and he was suddenly very conscious that he had not eaten in days. Centuries in the Asgardian court had imprinted the association that battles were followed by feasting, and his belly cried out for sustenance as simply and instinctively as he felt pain from injury or relief after a sneeze. Watching Thor chew at the tender meat, his mouth began to water behind the gag.

However, in a few large eager bites the sandwich was gone, its greasy paper casing crumpled and disposed of in the waste basket beside Loki. "The shawarma was delicious!" Thor explained, finally taking Mjolnir by the handle and lifting her from Loki’s abdomen as Loki groaned in pain and relief. “The shopkeepers were very kind to prepare it, including the extra to take with us for the walk. Loki, I simply do not see why you despise this race so much.”

Thor lifted Mjolnir and Loki had to swallow violently to keep from vomiting up what had been displaced during his wait. Thor seized him easily by an arm and pulled him to stand, leaning his limp body against him to walk him out into the main chambers.

The other five waited for them in the presence of their leader, that unpleasant dark-jacketed figure whose missing eye and impatient authoritarianism reminded Loki so much of Odin. He held his hands behind his back as he appraised Thor, who approached him with the humble confidence he did with their own-- well, _Thor’s_ , Loki amended to himself-- father.

“I mean to return Loki to Asgard,” Thor declared. “Our court already awaits his trial for numerous crimes outstanding before he came to your realm. He belongs with us.”

Loki snuck a sidelong glance at him, trying to feel out whether that last bit was more sentiment than logic.

"Okay, but if you take him back with you, can we be sure he's no longer a threat to us?” the one-eyed man asked. “Can we be sure he’s not going to show up back here in a couple years with a bigger army and try it again?"

"You may be certain he will not roam freely throughout the Nine Realms. He was never meant to have left Asgard in the first place . . . but at the time we believed him to be dead. We are more wary of his tricks now."

By the tight desperate grip on Loki’s arm it seemed Thor was concerned the one-eyed man would not agree, but surprisingly he gave a casual shrug. "I’ll take your word for it. Honestly, I just want him off the planet. New York doesn't have the death penalty and we don't have the resources to keep this guy locked up and fed for the five thousand years or however long your people live. Goddamn waste of taxpayer money. Now, let's get him out of here before some powerful people who don't know anything about anything try to get themselves in the way." 

***

And so Loki and the Tesseract were returned to Asgard. The Midgardians brought him out in chains, on display for the world to see, but there were no jeers or taunts, and indeed no one approached close enough to do Loki any physical harm. The gazes they cast upon him were not kind, but they did not touch him, only Thor. Loki’s stomach grumbled loudly, having been locked away in the detestable gag throughout, but on the whole he was healthy, healing, and capable of walking of his own accord.

Beyond all logic and precedent and in defiance of all usual terms of war, Loki was returned to Asgard safe and whole, the worst torture he had endured in Midgard having simply been denied a bite to eat.


End file.
